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There he laid. Iron scented vermilion covering his body, staining the desert on his back, obscuring his beloved’s face. Rusted nails wafting from his soon to be cold body. The numbing senses of the soma he inhabits left the fire in his heart remaining, passionate and undying. Flame brighter than ever as for the first time in a while, has it felt bliss.
In the gorgeously decorated bedroom, he sat on the side of his mattress, his mother crouched in front of him. There he was, no older than five years old, having his shoelaces tied as he got ready for school. “Du wirst immer Mamas Lieblingsjunge bleiben.” The voice of a long forgotten face said to him.
And yet, somehow, he suddenly remembered her gentle and kind face.
Holding the high school scholarship in his hands, the hall's lights fixated on him, so were the people’s gazes. The scrutiny from the green-eyed monster pierced his chest and into his heart. Yet nothing made him feel more than the stoic look of his father. The tight-lipped expression was dropped and a smile was borne.
A smile of pride.
He was twenty-eight. Sneaking away from the wedding ceremony. The whirlwind of silks and muslin didn’t intrigue him as much as what lurked beyond the fancy stage.
Behind the curtains laid three cages, the coos and squeaks of a dozen doves stared at him as he stared back at their beady eyes. One held its glaze intensely. He went closer, so did the bird. Face pressed to the bars of the cage, as a sharp pain was felt on the tip of his nose.
There, where the ballroom lights turned their backs against him, did he find his Igor.
He was in his early forties when he was hired by Mann.co as a medic. He arrived in the New Mexico desert, where he was greeted with a scumbling of ambers, ochres, and cerise. With his most trusted assistant and his other feathery companions, did he meet the spectacle of a man. Heavy Weapons Guy.
“Assuming you’ve read our given files, it seems we’ll be seeing each other often. Guten tag, herr.”
“И тебе привет. Heavy will make sure doctor does not die on battlefield, and Heavy will expect same from doctor.”
After a handshake that held greater significance neither knew, they parted ways.
“When the patient woke up, his skeleton was missing, and the doctor was heard from again!” His eccentric cackle mixed with Heavy’s loud roar of laughter, their shared enjoyment of the morbid and disturbing engulfed the room. When they had their first chat, both realised they had more similarities than they thought. Soon, the infirmary became their little haven. Harbouring a mix of lighthearted topics about favourite childhood dishes mingled with shared bloodlust.
“Archimedes! No!” Sometimes his assistant wasn’t the best at his job. But Heavy never complained.
He was already four years into his life of crime. Him and the Heavy Weapons Specialist had gotten more close than ever. What was once fascination became friendliness, then was mutual respect. Like two peas in a pod, wherever Heavy was, was where he also was, and vice versa. As both bent over backwards trying to keep the other alive, one body-blocked rocket blast or headshot meant everything to them.
It was the dead of night, when going out for a second trip to get coffee, he spotted Heavy, or Misha. It was the name he preferred anyway. The man’s bedroom door was open and he was facing his window. The moonlight shining on his face cast a large shadow blanketing him when he walked up to the man.
“What has gotten you still awake at this time, mein freund?” The man was seemingly not startled by the sudden intrusion.
“Doctor, I would like to confess something.”
“Go on mein Heavy. I’m all ears.”
On that night, when Helios had gone to slumber and the judgeless Mene took its place, secrets were shared, so was passion, and love.
Pinned to the ground, rocks scratched at his face. The large hand of the sadistic man on top of him kept him in place while he spewed words of vengeance and violence. It seemed almost impossible when he heard the whirring of a machine gun, with that familiar and warm baritone voice accompanying it.
“Do not hit doctor.” The hand finally let go of his face.
He immediately turned to look up, he needed to see him again, his savior, his beloved, his everything. His Heavy.
“I ain’t gonna lie. I been lookin’ forward to this.”
The ringing in his ears from the tackle and being sans glasses made it difficult for him to both hear and see. Until he recognized the shape of a pistol in the classic Heavy’s hand.
Even if it was hard for him to speak in his circumstance, he had to try, he couldn’t let Heavy get hurt.
Then, two gunshots rang out.
Blood filled his mouth and seeped through the white lab coat, blossoming into beautiful haemanthus coccineuses. His lungs entangled with red rose thorns as his breathing became shallower and shallower.
But if he were to die saving his Heavy, then he’d let himself drift into eternal peace.
Maybe Heavy was rubbing onto him after all these years.